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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374728">Five Enterprise Episodes That Would Be Improved By Malcolm Being Sick</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wig_powder/pseuds/wig_powder'>wig_powder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Enterprise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5 Things, Canon Compliant, Episode: s01e16 Shuttlepod One, Episode: s01e26-s02e01 Shockwave Parts 1-2, Episode: s02e19 Judgment, Episode: s04e06 The Augments, Episode: s04e16 Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Sickfic, Sneezing, Spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:40:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,177</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374728</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wig_powder/pseuds/wig_powder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, improved for me at any rate.</p><p>Just five snapshots of how things might have been a little different had certain episodes (or their aftermaths) featured Malcolm being under the weather.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. ONE ("Shuttlepod One")</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As the tags say, each chapter contains spoilers for the episodes in question, as well as references to events in other episodes.</p><p>Also, if a block of dialogue is underlined, that's a direct quote from the show. I wanted to give credit where credit was due.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, a little fun fact. <i>Enterprise</i> sometimes aired episodes out of order. In one such instance, "Shadows of P'Jem" was filmed first, but it got swapped around with "Sleeping Dogs". Had things aired in order, "Sleeping Dogs" would have been followed by "Shuttlepod One". Given that "Sleeping Dogs" is the episode where Malcolm canonically gets sick, I prefer to picture the two episodes happening one after the other for the sake of this particular story.</p><p>What makes it even better is Archer's line about how Vulcans will try to blame certain technobabble on "the common cold", before we immediately cut back to Malcolm and Trip. Please imagine that my story picks up right after Archer says that line...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>Ek-shh!</em>” Malcolm brought his arm up to sneeze into the crook of his elbow. Even in the middle of his rapidly-growing panic over <em>Enterprise’s </em>fate, he was able to note the thickness and heaviness in his nose as he sniffed, and grimaced. If he was right, his life, or what was left of it, was about to get a lot more unpleasant.</p><p>Commander Tucker seemed oblivious to what had just happened, instead trying desperately to find a ray of hope, some ghost of a chance that the rest of the crew were alive. Malcolm quickly disabused him of that notion, only for Tucker to seize on the idea of trying to signal for help, despite their beacon’s limited range and their even more limited air supply. Exasperated and anxious, Malcolm tried to argue against it, but Tucker pulled rank, so he begrudgingly complied and set a course for what he thought was the way back to their last subspace beacon. As they were moving away from the asteroid that doubled as the <em>Enterprise’s </em>final resting place, Malcolm had to take his hands off the controls and bring his arm to his face again. “<em>Hik-tchh!</em>”</p><p>“Bless you,” Tucker said, sounding annoyed, curious, depressed, and nervous all at once, “You all right there?”</p><p>“Unfortunately not,” Malcolm sighed, returning his hands to the controls, “I think the shock of…all this…may be causing a relapse of the cold I had last week.”</p><p>“Oh, great,” Tucker said sarcastically, “Just what we need. Fightin’ for our lives and fightin’ off colds at the same time.”</p><p>“I assure you, I’ll do what I can to keep my germs to myself, Commander,” Malcolm responded irritably, “I <em>did </em>somehow manage to avoid getting anyone else sick last week, after all.”</p><p>“Yeah, but there is…<em>was</em>,” Tucker swallowed and continued, “more space to avoid you on <em>Enterprise</em>. Best we can manage here is, what, five feet?”</p><p>“Nevertheless, I’ll make the effort,” Malcolm said, unable to repress a sniff, “Though it might help if we had some disinfectant. Surely there’s at least a small bottle of it in the emergency medical supplies.”</p><p>Tucker moved away, and Malcolm could hear him rummaging around under the seats. “There we go,” Tucker said at last, “Yeah, we’ve got disinfectant, which I’ll be claimin’ for myself if you don’t mind. But you can have these. Catch.”</p><p>Malcolm turned around just in time to get smacked in the face with a (fortunately soft) packet of tissues. “Sorry,” Tucker said, “But at least you’ve got something a bit softer to sneeze into.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Malcolm said, opening the packet and setting it on the table, “Though I think there are only about a dozen of them in here. I’ll have to use them sparingly.”</p><p>“How is that different from everything else in here at this point?” Tucker pointed out.</p><p>“True,” Malcolm said with a mirthless chuckle, “But I have a feeling these are going to run out first.”</p><p>***</p><p>“…<span class="u">had no alternative but to</span>…to…” Malcolm broke off his recitation and pinched his nose hard. “<em>Iknnkt!</em>”’</p><p>“Bless you,” Tucker chimed in from the corner, where he was trying to repair the sensor array, “Didn’t Phlox warn you that that sort of thing is bad for you?”</p><p>Malcolm paused the recording and threw Tucker yet another baleful look. “Ordinarily, I’d follow those suggestions, but right now, it conserves the tissues.”</p><p>“All right, all right, just sayin’…” Tucker said, looking back down at the sensor. Malcolm sniffed deeply, cleared his throat, rubbed his nose, then rewound and resumed the recording.</p><p>The next few hours weren’t exactly enjoyable. Both he and Tucker kept snapping at each other for various reasons, he had the unpleasant task of dictating goodbyes to his small handful of acquaintances (he knew it used up oxygen that much faster, but these were things that needed to be said rather than written), and his cold symptoms were slowly but surely getting worse. The only bright spot was the dream he had that they were safely on <em>Enterprise</em> when he caught a few hours of sleep. Even that, however, was counterbalanced by a) waking up and realizing that it was just a dream, b) Tucker revealing that Malcolm apparently talked in his sleep (and wasn’t <em>that </em>a terrifying thought, considering the things in Malcolm’s past he wanted to keep hidden), and c) he woke up feeling three times as worse as he did when he’d fallen asleep. A search of the emergency medical supplies revealed some pain relievers but no decongestants, so he was forced to use one of the tissues to try to get his voice to some manner of intelligible. Not that that helped much, as some sort of anomaly hit the shuttlepod, reducing their oxygen still further. In order to buy them a little more time, Tucker suggested lowering the heat and letting the energy go to the atmosphere recyclers instead. Even though he knew it would just make him feel even more miserable, Malcolm agreed. If nothing else, it would give him more time to dictate his goodbyes.</p><p>As the temperature dropped, the slight chill Malcolm had been feeling turned into open shivering, causing his teeth to chatter. Even putting on a hat and jacket only alleviated the discomfort a little. In order to try to make his recordings sound <em>somewhat </em>composed, he had to hug himself and curl up in the chair to create a little extra warmth. That was nothing compared to the matter of his nose, however. The colder it got, the more his nose started running, getting blocked up for good measure. As if that wasn’t bad enough, breathing in the cold air, even through his mouth, caused his nose to sting, which sooner or later would force him to sneeze. He still did what he could to keep his tissue use to a minimum—stifling the sneezes, sniffling, even resorting to wiping his nose on his uniform (Tucker made a disgusted noise, and Malcolm was inclined to agree with him, but desperate times…)—but eventually, he’d cave in and reach for one of them. At the very least, one productive blow provided a brief respite from constantly pausing and restarting the recording to try to make his voice sound presentable. He did what he could to keep each tissue usable, but there was only so much punishment they could take. A small part of him wondered wryly if the cold temperatures would actually be a benefit, drying out the tissues via freezing them, but wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to test it out. Based on the glimpse he’d caught of himself in his mirror, his nose was raw enough as it was.</p><p>In the course of all this, Tucker continued to needle him about his pessimism and his goodbye messages, occasionally interspersed with comments about how ridiculous it was that Malcolm was “keeping up appearances” despite “looking like death”. Malcolm tried to ignore him, but the cold, his illness, the knowledge of his impending death, and the realization of just how few people he truly had in his life were all taking their toll. When Tucker lit a candle for ambience and mocked Malcolm for not wanting to drink on duty, Malcolm finally snapped.</p><p>“<span class="u">I lost nearly everyone I cared about on that ship! Those girls I talked about—Rochelle, Deborah, Catelin—none of them worked out because I could never get very close to them! Never got very close to my family either, not that it’s any business of yours. But with the crew of the <em>Enterprise</em>, it was different. I was really starting to feel comfortable with them, and now the only one that’s left thinks I’m the bloody angel of death!</span>”</p><p>He could hear his voice shaking and tears stinging at his eyes as all his frustration and pain poured out of him. When he’d finished, he turned away so Tucker wouldn’t see, almost grateful for the itch spiking in his nose. He grabbed one of the three remaining unused tissues and brought it to his face. “<em>Ip-kishh!</em>”</p><p>He remained where he was for a moment, using the cover of the tissue to wipe at his eyes. Then he heard a hard exhale from behind him, and turned around to see that Tucker had blown out the candle. When he made eye contact with Malcolm, he gave him an apologetic nod.</p><p>“<span class="u">All of a sudden, five or six more minutes sounds kind of nice.</span>” Then he smiled faintly and held out one of the glasses of bourbon. “Truce?”</p><p>Malcolm sniffed, rubbed his nose, and then smiled back. “Truce,” he agreed, sliding down to join Tucker on the floor, “Though are you sure you want to share with me, given my…”</p><p>“Alcohol’s supposed to kill germs, right?” Tucker pointed out, “Besides, I’ll probably be dead before the cold’s got time to take root.”</p><p>“Always trying to be positive,” Malcolm scoffed, though there was no heat to his words this time, “But I’ll drink to that hope.” Tucker grinned a little more broadly, and they clinked glasses and downed the shots.</p><p>Malcolm couldn’t entirely remember everything that happened next, and he wasn’t sure if he should blame his cold, the cold in general, the alcohol, or the early stages of oxygen deprivation. He remembered eventually running out of tissues and turning to sneezing into the thermal blankets they’d wrapped themselves in, with Tucker’s encouragement (“softer than your sleeve, at least”). He also recalled actually feeling somewhat cheerful about his impending death, perhaps because he felt warmer and considerably less sick. While he did sober up when they discovered that the <em>Enterprise</em> was not as destroyed as believed, things still were hazy in his memory. He remembered coming up with the idea to destroy the shuttlepod’s engine to signal their location, and it was hard to forget pointing a gun at his superior officer to keep him from making a noble sacrifice (something Malcolm always shook his head in disbelief over; you really would have thought those roles would have been reversed). But after that, everything went dark until he woke up in Sickbay, Captain Archer and the Sub-Commander standing over him. It was so similar to his dream that there was a part of him that feared it was a dying hallucination, until his nose prickled and he wound up sneezing into his blanket. “<em>Ip-shh</em>!”</p><p>“Bless you.” Archer said, and Malcolm nodded his thanks, unable to repress a slight smile. Pessimistic as his brain often was, it had never made him sick in his dreams. Nevertheless, he “confirmed” his suspicions by waiting to see if the Sub-Commander reacted the same way she had in his dream—she didn’t, which was both a shame and a relief—then tried to settle down to get a more healthy rest. But before he drifted off, he admitted, even if no one heard him, that he was willing to call Tucker—Trip—a friend. It was a pathetic step forward, but progress was progress.</p><p>(Surprisingly, it only took Malcolm four days to get back on his feet, the last of his cold symptoms disappearing for good on the fifth day. Trip spent two days in Sickbay and another five in his quarters, dealing with chills and some sneezing of his own. No one was entirely sure if it was due to the hypothermia or if he’d picked up Malcolm’s cold, but it became a sort of joke between them, Trip pulling out “Yeah, well, you got me sick. You owe me!” when they were arguing about something. Malcolm would either respond with “I also kept you from dying. I think we’re even.” or “I <em>did</em> make the effort to keep it to myself.”, depending on whether or not he was willing to back down. No matter which he chose, they’d both smile and come to some sort of resolution shortly thereafter.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. TWO ("Shockwave, Part II")</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mind if I join you?” Mayweather asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from the lieutenant.</p>
<p>Malcolm seemed to jump a little in his seat. Shaking his head slightly, he looked up from his padd and finally seemed to register Mayweather’s presence. It allowed Mayweather to get a good look at Malcolm’s face for the first time, and he couldn’t repress a wince at the sight. Despite Phlox’s best efforts, Malcolm’s face still had heavy bruising, especially around the eyes and mouth. According to gossip, it was miles better than what he’d looked like when Commander Tucker had finally been able to look in on him. If that was true, Mayweather hated to think how unpleasant <em>that</em> would have been to see.</p>
<p>“My apologies, Travis,” Malcolm said, giving a wry smile that curved leftwards, trying to disturb the bruising as little as possible, “What were you saying?”</p>
<p>“I was just asking if you minded some company.”</p>
<p>“No, not at all,” Malcolm said, indicating the empty chair, “I could use a different distraction. Though I’d rather you did most of the talking.”</p>
<p>“I bet,” Mayweather said, sitting down, “How are you doing?”</p>
<p>“Why does everybody keep asking me that?” Malcolm responded, his eyeroll tempered by the obvious dry amusement in his tone, “You’d think I was at death’s door the way people bring it up.”</p>
<p>“We’re just concerned,” Mayweather said, “The escape attempt was a team effort, but you were the one who had to make the biggest sacrifice. In a way, I think we’re trying to thank you.”</p>
<p>Malcolm’s smile softened. “I appreciate that. It may have been what was expected of me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admit to wanting a little acknowledgement of my…”</p>
<p>He stopped abruptly, face contorting. Mayweather assumed the talking was pulling on his bruises, but then Malcolm pinched his nose with one hand, grabbing onto the table with the other. “<em>Ink-nggt!</em>” He immediately followed it up with a hiss of pain, moving his hand from nose to side.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Mayweather asked, alarmed.</p>
<p>“It’s just my luck,” Malcolm said, still grimacing as he massaged his side, “I don’t know who or what I picked it up from this time, but I’m developing another cold. Unfortunately, the Suliban hoped to motivate me by kicking me in the ribs a few times. They’re still a bit sensitive, especially if they’re jostled by abrupt movement.”</p>
<p>“So why stifle? That seems like the worst thing you could do in this situation.”</p>
<p>“I would have thought so too, but I tried just letting them out and nearly passed out from the pain. Even Phlox had to admit this was the better course of action for now. With luck, I’ll only have to put up with this for about a week. Less if Phlox’s creatures actually do all he claims that they can.”</p>
<p>“Does the captain know about this?”</p>
<p>“Naturally,” Malcolm said ruefully, “Even if Phlox wasn’t required to tell him about more serious injuries, I felt that he needed to know that I wouldn’t be at my best. He even offered to take me off the duty roster until I recovered, if you can believe that.”</p>
<p>Mayweather shook his head affectionately. They’d gotten into their fair share of scrapes over the past year, and Malcolm had made it clear that he would do his job despite any physical setback unless ordered to rest. It was the only reason he’d taken so long to return to duty after the incident with Shuttlepod One, after all. “I think that was nice of him,” Mayweather said aloud, “He’s always tried to be accommodating like that.”</p>
<p>“I’ve noticed,” Malcolm said dryly, “But at least he understood when I said I’d rather keep bu…” He broke off, face going slack for a moment before he pinched his nose again. “<em>Ignxxt!</em>” Then he grimaced, clearly biting back a groan, and lightly touched his side again.</p>
<p>“Bless you,” Mayweather said, “Maybe you should eat in your quarters. It might be less uncomfortable if you were propped up in bed or something.”</p>
<p>“Not a bad idea, at that,” Malcolm acknowledged, “Though given that I’m eating soup at the moment, I don’t think I want to risk it this time. I’ll try it tomorrow evening, assuming Chef’s accommodating.”</p>
<p>Mayweather made a mental note to ask Chef to make something that was easy to eat lying down. “What about breakfast and lunch?”</p>
<p>“I’ll be going on-duty immediately afterwards. What’s the point in making things more complicated?”</p>
<p>Mayweather knew that trying to argue Malcolm could reduce his pain that way was pointless. So he just shrugged and changed the subject, wincing in sympathy when Malcolm sneezed again. It was hard to tell under the bruises, but he looked paler than usual. Mayweather could only hope that Phlox was able to mend Malcolm’s ribs faster than anyone expected. Not only did the ship need its armory officer in top shape, Malcolm deserved a break after everything he’d gone through.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. THREE (“Judgment”)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>Ip-kehshh!</em>”</p><p>“Bless you,” Archer said, turning his chair towards the tactical station, “You all right there, Malcolm?”</p><p>“Mostly, sir,” Malcolm replied, lightly rubbing at his nose with a tissue, “Though I think I may be coming down with a cold. Not a surprise, given where we’ve been.”</p><p>Archer, in fact, <em>was </em>surprised. He’d been trapped in Rura Penthe for at least two days, subjected to hard labor and beatings as well as the brutal cold, and although he’d been sore, exhausted, and glad of <em>Enterprise’s</em> various ways to warm up, he hadn’t gotten sick. Malcolm, on the other hand, had only been on the planet for a few minutes, and hadn’t done anything more strenuous than walk briskly back to the dilithium barge that had served as Archer’s rescue ship. So why was he ill while Archer wasn’t? Malcolm had proven he was pretty resilient, so it seemed unlikely that he’d get sick just from being exposed to some cold (albeit <em>extremely </em>cold) weather.</p><p>Then again, Archer had vaguely noticed an involuntary quirk in his armory officer. While Malcolm could handle quite a lot of physical pain and was more than willing to push himself to the limit to make sure <em>Enterprise</em> and her crew were safe, he still seemed to catch cold more often than anyone else on the crew. Part of this might be due to being one of the first on the “front lines” and thus exposed to more germs, but Archer and Hoshi were in similar positions and had never wound up in the same boat. Now, he was starting to formulate a different theory. Other than Malcolm’s first cold, which they’d determined came from some “infected” plasma coolant, he almost always seemed to get sick after a period of high stress. The incident in Shuttlepod One had been a relapse, brought on by the shock of thinking <em>Enterprise</em> had been destroyed and that he was going to die soon himself. Then there was that time after the Suliban had taken over the ship; he’d spent days having to live with Archer’s quiet condemnation for killing an entire colony, then having to deal with the takeover and undergoing a beating to help bring Archer back from the future. And now, not only had he and the rest of the crew been worried about Archer’s fate, they’d also recently had to deal with possessing wisps and rescuing Archer and Tucker from a prison ship. Not to mention the fact that Malcolm had to be on his guard during the Rura Penthe rescue to make sure they weren’t caught, otherwise he’d be sharing Archer’s fate, or worse. In short, Malcolm’s body sometimes reacted to the end of high-stress situations by getting sick, which would hopefully force Malcolm to rest. It made a lot of sense, even if it was inconvenient for everyone involved.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>Archer blinked, then realized he’d been staring at Malcolm for the past minute without saying anything. “Sorry, Malcolm. Got lost in thought. Sorry to hear you’re not feeling well.”</p><p>Malcolm shrugged. “It could be worse. At least I’m able to sneeze freely this time.” Even as he said it, his expression changed, and he brought the tissue back to his face. “<em>Heh-tchh!</em>”</p><p>“Bless you. You sure you feel up for working?”</p><p>“Positive, sir. As I’ve said before, I prefer to work to distract myself from…unpleasant situations.”</p><p>“Well, try to find distractions that allow you to stay off your feet and keep warm, all right?” Archer said with a smile, “We need you at your best for when the Klingons inevitably discover I’ve gone missing and start trying to track us down.”</p><p>“Aye, sir,” Malcolm responded with a faint smile of his own, “I do have some modification ideas I wanted to try to flesh out. I suppose now would be as good a time as any.”</p><p>“Sounds good.” Archer said, then turned back towards the viewscreen. He made a mental note to try to arrange the schedule for the next few days so Malcolm would have fewer work hours, or at least spend most of his shifts in the armory, where he’d have more control over the temperature and the freedom to choose how he spent his time. After saving Archer’s life and getting sick because of it, it seemed like the least a grateful captain could do.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. FOUR ("The Augments")</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The comm unit chirped, causing everyone in Decon to turn towards it expectantly. Phlox, of course, was the one who went to answer it. “Phlox. What’s the prognosis?”</p>
<p>“<em>Mostly good</em>,” came the response from Crewman Naiman, “<em>Most of you are clear of anything nasty. However, we’re picking up signs of something in Lieutenant Reed, so he’ll need to stay in here a little longer so we can pinpoint what it is.</em>”</p>
<p>Everybody glanced at Reed in surprise, a few of them edging away from him nervously. Phlox understood the action, even if he disapproved of it; given the various different unpleasant pathogens that had been released into Cold Station 12, the possibility that just one of them had been infected by something was a cause for concern. “Understood. I presume the rest of us are free to go?”</p>
<p>“<em>Yes, Doctor.</em>”</p>
<p>“Good. I’ll be there presently to take over the analysis. Phlox out.”</p>
<p>He stepped away from the comm and nodded at the others. “We should all get back to our posts as soon as possible. Who knows what Soong and the augments are planning.”</p>
<p>The group obeyed, some of them offering best wishes to Reed, others walking out the door as fast as they thought they could get away with. Phlox was the last to go, giving Reed a sympathetic smile, “Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I doubt it’s very serious if you’re the only one who has to remain behind.”</p>
<p>Reed nodded, looking somewhat apprehensive but more resigned than anything. “And I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with a cure for what ails me. Most of those diseases have countermeasures of some sort, I expect.”</p>
<p>“They do indeed,” Phlox said, “And I’m sure we can obtain them from the station, even if it requires a lot of protective gear to do so.”</p>
<p>He left the chamber and moved to get dressed, not wanting to leave Naiman to have to deal with Sickbay by herself. From what little he’d gathered, she was handling the situation well, but the fact that a crewman was their backup plan for the occasions when Phlox joined an away mission had really brought home the fact that he needed actual medical personnel, rather than whoever was handy or had a modicum of medical training. Perhaps he’d put in a request for some after all this was over. In the meantime, he’d certainly be suggesting giving Naiman a commendation, as well as proposing she take on a second position as his nurse.</p>
<p>Once he returned to Sickbay, he checked on Archer first. He’d also been cleared of any pathogens in his system, but getting blown out an airlock into the vacuum of space is hardly what one would call a healthy situation to be in. Fortunately, his body temperature was rapidly returning to normal, and the medical scans showed that no permanent damage had been done. Satisfied, he returned to the issue of Lieutenant Reed, sending Naiman down with a few different gels so he could pinpoint the problem. While he waited for the results, he talked things over with Doctor Lucas and the rest of the station staff, making sure they were all right while also privately enjoying the opportunity to catch up with his old friend face to face. Fortunately, despite this experience, all of them seemed determined to return to the station and try to restore it, even though it would be slow, dangerous going. Indeed, some of them seemed to relish the challenge. Well, they wouldn’t have taken the job if they weren’t up for the task, after all.</p>
<p>There was a beep from Phlox’s computer, and he turned his attention to it, looking over the scans and comparing it to the database of pathogens from the station. A little bit of tension left his shoulders when he couldn’t find a match, though now that raised the question of what exactly Reed <em>was</em> ill with. Phlox widened the field to anything in his database, and the result came back in less than a minute. Despite himself, he couldn’t repress a chuckle, though he managed to compose himself before comming Decon. “Phlox to Lieutenant Reed.”</p>
<p>“<em>Reed here.</em>”</p>
<p>“I have good news and bad news, Lieutenant. The good news is, you weren’t infected by any of the station’s pathogens. The bad news is, you’re coming down with a cold.”</p>
<p>“<em>Of course I am,</em>” Reed said with an exasperated sigh, “<em>Those little buggers have it in for me. Does it look serious?</em>”</p>
<p>“Not at the moment. But of course, that can change depending on how much you keep pushing yourself.”</p>
<p>“<em>I’m afraid that’s up to Soong. But once this is over, I’ll see what I can do about resting. How’s the captain?</em>”</p>
<p>“Recovering. In fact, he may be in better shape than you.”</p>
<p>Reed chuckled mirthlessly. “<em>One bit of good news, I suppose. Am I cleared for duty?</em>”</p>
<p>“Yes. Though I ask that you <em>try</em> not to make yourself worse.”</p>
<p>“<em>I make no promises. Reed out.</em>”</p>
<p>Phlox terminated the call on his end, shaking his head slightly. Humans could be dreadfully stubborn at times, and both Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed were excellent examples of that. Perhaps it wasn’t a surprise that they’d ended up working together.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Two hours later, Reed was in Sickbay, though not for his illness; he was talking the augment situation over with Archer (who looked and sounded terrible but was otherwise in decent condition) and the rest of the bridge crew. They soon determined that Klingons would be pursuing them, and it was Reed who came up with a solution. “<span class="u">Perhaps we could fake a Klingon warp signature.</span>”</p>
<p>Commander Tucker jumped on the idea immediately, and the conversation shifted to the status of Cold Station 12. As they spoke, Phlox noticed Reed pinch his nose and quiver slightly. When he opened his eyes, he saw Phlox looking, gave a curt nod, and moved over to one of the counters to get some disinfectant and tissues. No one else seemed to have noticed, too wrapped up in the conversation, and the group disbanded shortly thereafter to put their plans into motion. Phlox got Naiman to look over Archer again and approached Reed. “I believe I’ve told you that stifling isn’t healthy, Lieutenant.” he said quietly.</p>
<p>“Nor is getting the captain sick when we’re in a crisis situation and he’s been brought low by exposure to the vacuum of space,” Reed responded, “I’ll do things properly once you’ve given him the all-clear or the augments have been dealt with, whichever comes first.”</p>
<p>Phlox huffed in amused exasperation. “I suppose I should commend you for your efforts to prevent the spread of infection. Very well. But I’m holding you to that.” He pressed a hypospray to Reed’s neck. “And that should hopefully allow you to do your job without too much discomfort in the meantime.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Reed said with a small but grateful smile. Then he pulled a tissue from his jumpsuit and pinched his nose with it. “<em>Ixnnt!</em>”</p>
<p>Phlox made a shooing motion. “Good luck, Lieutenant. I’ll expect you back here later today so I can make sure you haven’t exhausted yourself <em>too</em> much.”</p>
<p>Reed nodded and left Sickbay, disposing of the tissue on the way out. Phlox shook his head and chuckled, then turned his attention back to the captain. He could tell it wouldn’t be long before he, too, would be leaving Sickbay despite not being at full strength.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. FIVE ("Divergence")</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm settled himself back down in bed and picked up his book, only to drop it as he turned his head to the side. “<em>Hek-shhht!</em>” Sniffing experimentally, he felt his nose twinge uncomfortably and sighed. Another cold, then.</p>
<p>Not that he was too surprised about this. He’d finally figured out his body’s stress coping mechanism after the incident with the Suliban, and he’d tried, despite what Phlox might think, to prevent it from happening too frequently. Whenever crises popped up and he realized he’d been pushing himself and was opening himself up to illness, he’d try to take precautions, like leaving the armory in someone else’s hands to grab a few hours’ rest, which had the added benefit of allowing him to think a little more clearly. And after things had settled down, he’d turn up the heat in his quarters and spend the next day or two giving himself light duties. Generally, that seemed to work; he’d even managed to avoid falling ill during and after the Xindi incident, which he was proud of. But after everything he’d gone through over the past few days, he should have expected his body would react in the expected way. Then again, being confronted with the most shameful spectre of your past, complete with having to betray your captain and getting thrown in the brig for it does have a tendency to make things slip your mind.</p>
<p>Malcolm sighed again, any desire to read deserting him. Things had worked out better than expected, really—Archer seemed inclined to forgive him, they had Phlox back unharmed, they’d resolved things relatively well with the Klingons, and he’d told Harris in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t ever going back to working for him. But for all that, he couldn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at him. It had been there ever since he’d realized what Harris was doing, but it had quieted down over the years. Helping save his shipmates (and the entire human race) did wonders in that department. Still, the memories of his old missions and the knowledge that he’d violated several legal and moral codes, even if it was for the good of Earth and Starfleet, could always rise up at inopportune times. It was part of the reason why he preferred to keep busy; it kept him distracted and forced the thoughts down. And if it helped improve <em>Enterprise’s </em>security, so much the better.</p>
<p>This time, however, the thoughts wouldn’t be pushed away so easily. Not after getting a very sharp reminder of his old life. Not with Archer aware of what Malcolm had once been. And especially not after the whole ship had become aware he’d been sent to the brig, accused of treason. Archer might have made a show of letting Malcolm take his old station, but that wouldn’t stop rumors spreading. Since telling the truth was out of the question for a variety of reasons, he just had to hope that the rest of the ship would follow the captain’s example and assume there’d been a misunderstanding or some sort of grand plan they hadn’t been privy to. But what were the odds of <em>that?</em> More likely, he’d have to endure sidelong glances, whispers behind his back, and a certain amount of coldness from everyone until he’d earned their trust again. And who knew how long that would take?</p>
<p>His nose prickled again, and he pushed himself off the bed, holding two fingers to his nose until he’d retrieved a box of tissues and brought one to his face. “<em>It-kishh!</em>” He felt himself shudder a little as he lowered the tissue, and moved to turn up the heat and grab an extra blanket and some water so he could make it through the night without feeling too miserable. Physically, at least; he’d already resigned himself to being mentally pained for a good month.</p>
<p>Malcolm was just setting his supplies on or by the bed when he heard his door buzzer. Initially confused at who would be coming to his quarters this late in the evening, his heart clenched when he realized it was probably Archer, wanting to speak about the situation. No doubt he’d been alerted to Harris’ call and wanted to make sure Malcolm wasn’t having second thoughts about his loyalties. He quickly set down the items, straightened his sleep clothes as best he could, and stood with his back straight and head held high, hoping his nose would behave itself and allow him at least a <em>little</em> dignity. “Come in.”</p>
<p>The door slid open, and Malcolm had to take a moment to readjust when he realized Trip was the one standing there, relief mingling with confusion. “Oh…Oh! Come in, Trip.”</p>
<p>“You just said that,” Trip pointed out with a slight grin, entering the room, “You seem surprised to see me.”</p>
<p>“Yes, well…it’s late,” Malcolm said, glad of the excuse, “And besides, you’re only here on loan. I figured you’d be working on fixing our engines so you can resume your post on <em>Columbia</em>.”</p>
<p>“Your own example notwithstandin’, not all of us are dedicated to our jobs twenty-four seven,” Trip responded, “And I figured it would be nice to catch up with everybody.” Then his expression got a little more serious. “Besides, I’d kind of like to know what the hell happened to you.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Malcolm said, heart clenching again.</p>
<p>“You know damn well what I mean. Why would Starfleet’s best armory officer get thrown in the brig? You said you’d explain when things were less busy, and I’d say now’s as good a time as any.”</p>
<p>Malcolm sighed. He remembered that comment, and had hoped Trip would either see it as black humor or forget about it in the rush to rescue <em>Enterprise</em>. He should have known that his friend would pounce on that with his usual stubbornness. “I’m afraid I can’t actually tell you, Trip. I think this whole mess qualifies as ‘classified’.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but you can at least give me a hint, can’t you? I’ve heard my…the engineering teams speculatin’ about it, and they’ve been suggesting everything from you being a plant for the Klingons to some sort of alien mind control. If I got some information from the horse’s mouth, maybe I could stop the rumors from gettin’ quite as ridiculous.”</p>
<p>“Why bother? Gossip’s one of the best ways to pass the time on long space voyages. This should keep them busy for a good month.” Malcolm said, trying for dry humor. But even as he spoke the words, he could hear them coming out bitter, and based on Trip’s folded arms and raised eyebrow, he wasn’t buying it.</p>
<p>“Not when it involves a man’s reputation. And not if it’s going to lead to friction. Come on, Mal, please? For your sake if nothing else?”</p>
<p>While Trip’s tone had started off stern, it softened into something pleading and, more importantly, reassuring. Malcolm swallowed, appreciating the bit of kindness and wondering if telling Trip the truth would drive it away. Perhaps fortunately, his body decided to buy him a little time, and he turned away to grab a tissue. “<em>Kip-shh!</em>”</p>
<p>“Bless you,” Trip said, “Gettin’ a cold?”</p>
<p>Malcolm looked over in slight surprise. “How did you…?”</p>
<p>“You think I haven’t noticed that you get sick after bein’ put through the wringer? I’m pretty sure endin’ up in the brig would qualify.”</p>
<p>Malcolm sighed again, rubbing at his nose. “I guess it <em>is</em> difficult to hide, at that. I’m sure <em>that’s </em>a source of gossip, too, the armory officer with a high pain tolerance and a weak immune system.”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Trip said, “But I’m guessin’ people understand more than you’d think. And maybe they’ll be the same way about whatever this is. Assuming you drop your stubbornness for sixty seconds and give me an explanation.”</p>
<p>Malcolm hesitated, then sat down on his bed and gestured for Trip to sit on the sofa. He waited until Trip had made himself comfortable, then said “I suppose you could call it blackmail.”</p>
<p>Trip’s horrified expression made Malcolm’s heart twist. “Blackmail? You? How…why…?”</p>
<p>“It’s not <em>quite</em> that dire. When I was fresh out of the academy, I was offered a position that seemed perfect for me. Appearances were deceiving, and when I realized my mistake, I disentangled myself. But my old CO decided I was still useful, so when Phlox was kidnapped, I was convinced to do a few unsavory things in order to get him back safely.”</p>
<p>Talking about it, even in such an oblique way, made his heart ache all the more. This was the make-or-break moment, where Trip would decide if Malcolm was company worth keeping. He’d always been afraid of having a moment like this, and now he was going to have to deal with it on a ship-wide basis. He suspected he could cope with losing the trust and respect of his subordinates, but when it came to his friends…Malcolm turned away and reached for a tissue he didn’t need just yet, not wanting to see Trip’s face.</p>
<p>“That son of a bitch!” Trip growled, and Malcolm dropped the tissue in surprise. Slowly turning his head back, he saw that Trip had jumped to his feet and was pacing the room angrily. “I’m guessin’ you can’t tell me who it is, but if I ever find out…I’ll give him a piece of my mind, even if it leads to a stain on my record. Might even have to be refrained from beltin’ him.”</p>
<p>“That wouldn’t be wise,” Malcolm said, unsure how to handle this development, “He’s got…friends in high places, and would probably make your life more difficult than you’d ever imagine.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care,” Trip said, punching a fist into his palm, “I thought Starfleet was better than this. A bit of fudging the truth here and there I get, but coercion…!”</p>
<p>Abruptly, he whirled to face Malcolm, which caused Malcolm to start slightly and inch back a little on his bed. Seeing the gesture, Trip’s anger seemed to dissipate immediately. “Oh Mal…” he said softly, shaking his head, “This explains so much about you.”</p>
<p>“Wh-what do you mean?” Malcolm said, hearing his voice rise a few pitches and hating himself for it.</p>
<p>“Not makin’ friends easily. Bein’ distanced from your parents. Throwin’ yourself into your work. Even the way you’re willing to put yourself at risk for the rest of us. It’s because of that first position, isn’t it? Whatever you had to do, it left you feeling like you had to atone, and like you couldn’t open up to anyone. Either because you didn’t know if you could trust them, or because you’d assume they’d dump you when they learned the truth. Or maybe because you were afraid you’d hurt them. God, Mal, I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>Malcolm swallowed. Trip was, as the man himself would have put it, dead on. Even if Malcolm had never actively thought about all those points, he’d certainly had some variation of those thoughts nagging at his brain at one time or another. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was part of where his stress colds came from, a simultaneous punishment and a way to get him to relax, at least a little. The fact that Trip had cut right to the heart of the matter both shocked him and made him feel even more exposed than he had when he’d tried to explain things to Archer. “I…I brought it on myself. I should have realized sooner…”</p>
<p>“None of that,” Trip said firmly, “You were young and stupid. We all are in our twenties. And sometimes, it takes us way too long to realize we’re in a bad situation, because it happened so gradually we didn’t notice. You may have done some bad things, but they can’t all be blamed on you. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve more than made up for them just by keepin’ us safe. That’s probably not enough to make the guilt go away, but maybe hearin’ it will help a little.”</p>
<p>He moved to the bed and sat down next to Malcolm, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m guessing you don’t want all this flyin’ around the ship, so I’ll try to keep it as vague as you did. But I promise you, Mal, I’ll tell as many people as possible that your actions weren’t malicious and came about ‘cause of a higher authority. Maybe that’ll keep them from makin’ you a pariah. I’ll see if I can get the Cap’n to do the same, too.”</p>
<p>Malcolm stared at Trip in amazement. Of all the responses he’d expected, he’d never imagined anyone reacting to his past like this. Then again, if anyone did, it certainly would be Trip. He felt a rush of gratitude, and opened his mouth to say thanks.</p>
<p>Then his heart squeezed painfully, but it wasn’t from fear this time. The mere possibility that Trip could set things right and keep Malcolm’s worst fears from coming true caused everything to crash in on him all at once. Relief. Guilt. Memories, both from years ago and from the past few days. Even the exhaustion brought on by illness. It was too much for him to process, and even though he’d built up a lot of walls over the years, sometimes it just takes one good wave to send them tumbling down.</p>
<p>It started with a light trembling. Then a tightness in his ribs that began to encompass his throat. The words he’d been trying to say came out as a strangled squeak, and just as Trip blinked in confusion, the dam broke, and Malcolm felt the tears pour down his face. He immediately snatched up the tissue box and curled in on himself, covering his whole face to try not to look <em>too</em> pathetic. Clenching his teeth, he managed to keep the sobs contained, though he couldn’t stop his breaths from coming out shaky and wet. As much as he wanted to compose himself, he could tell he’d just have to ride this out until his body had purged all this…negative emotion? Stress? Shock? Whatever it was, it was a long overdue release, and he was powerless to stop it.</p>
<p>“Mal?” The note of understanding in Trip’s voice caused Malcolm to move the tissues aside to peer at him. Trip was looking at him hesitantly, hands lightly balled into fists on his lap. “If I tried to give you a hug, would you punch me?”</p>
<p>Malcolm actually laughed at that, even if it came out like a garbled rasp. “Not…not if I got advance warning.” he managed to say.</p>
<p>In seconds, Trip had scooted over to Malcolm and pulled him against his chest, resting both hands against Malcolm’s back. “It’s ok,” he said softly, starting to rub his hands in circles, “I’ll keep this bit out too.”</p>
<p>Malcolm had figured he’d just allow the hug to let Trip feel like he was helping, while he concentrated on getting past the sobbing. But the sympathy he could almost feel radiating from Trip’s touch did something to him, and before he’d fully realized what he was doing, he’d dropped the tissues and was grabbing onto the front of Trip’s uniform with both hands, clinging to the man like a lifeline. Then again, that’s kind of what he was at the moment, wasn’t he?</p>
<p>His nose prickled again, stinging this time because of the salt from his tears, and he removed one of his hands to pinch his nose. “<em>Ikgxxt! Nikkt! Ngsst!</em>”</p>
<p>“Bless you,” Trip said, then added “Didn’t Phlox warn you that that sort of thing is bad for you?”</p>
<p>“Thought you…preferred me…keeping my germs…to myself.” Malcolm managed to choke out.</p>
<p>“Only in a life or death situation. And right now, I think it’d be healthier all around if you just let everything out.”</p>
<p>“Even if…I end up…using you…as a tissue?”</p>
<p>“I knew the risks when I signed up for this,” Trip answered, now running one hand down Malcolm’s back, “Though I’d rather you did what you could to avoid makin’ too much of a mess.”</p>
<p>Malcolm reached down and pulled another few tissues from the box, balling them into his fist for later use before resting his hand against Trip’s chest again. Trip laughed quietly, something Malcolm felt more than heard, and squeezed Malcolm’s shoulder. “You’re a hell of a guy, Malcolm. Always trying to be prepared. I don’t know if this’ll make you feel better or worse, but maybe that’s why your old CO chose you. He saw what you were capable of and knew it would help whatever twisted plans he had.”</p>
<p>Malcolm’s heart did sting at the thought, but at the same time, he felt a little flicker of pride. Yes, Harris had recruited him both by appealing to dreams of playing secret agent and by flattering him with comments about his talents, but he clearly hadn’t expected it when Malcolm had eventually walked away. It meant he was capable of being outsmarted. And in the meantime, Malcolm had helped rescue Earth without any help from Harris at all. Harris may have scarred him, but all it had done was made him find more above-board ways to serve and protect. What was that saying about things not killing you…?</p>
<p>He felt his nose itch again, and brought the tissues to his face. “<em>Ah-hishhh!</em>”</p>
<p>“Bless you.” Trip said, “See? That sounds a lot less painful.”</p>
<p>Malcolm nodded weakly, exhaling and noticing that it wasn’t as shaky. He tried to concentrate on Trip’s rubbing, timing his breaths with the long strokes, and bit by bit, they became much more even, the tightness receding and the tears slowing. He was still interrupted by sneezes every minute or so, but having the tissues on hand brought him a certain feeling of control, which seemed to help him come back to himself. Even if every sneeze made him feel a little colder and a little more tired.</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually, the tightness in his chest disappeared, leaving him completely drained. As he pulled out a clean tissue to wipe at his face, Trip let him go and moved away a little. “You look awful. But you also look a lot less tense. Fair tradeoff, I guess.”</p>
<p>“I guess,” Malcolm repeated, looking at Trip and managing a smile, “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Trip waved a hand. “What are friends for? Now then, you definitely need to get into bed. Do you want me to ask the Cap’n to adjust the schedule so you can sleep in late?”</p>
<p>“As much as I want to say yes, I need to reinforce to him that I’m trustworthy. Better to continue the status quo for now. But I’ll visit Phlox in the morning, and I’m sure he’ll inform Archer of my condition. After that, it’s in his hands.”</p>
<p>Trip shook his head fondly. “Man, you bounce back quick. But you raise a good point. I’ll try to get him to go easy on you when I eat with him tomorrow, ok?”</p>
<p>Malcolm nodded, gathering up all the tissues and bringing them to the waste disposal. When he turned back towards the bed, Trip had already stood up, gesturing to the bed with a grin. “Go on, get in there. You look like you’re going to pass out any minute.”</p>
<p>Malcolm couldn’t argue the point; his whole body felt heavy, and even the short walk back to bed seemed to sap his strength. He crawled under the covers, curling onto his side for a little extra warmth, and closed his eyes. Then his nose itched and he had to grab for a tissue. “<em>Itchh!</em>” Even his sneeze was weak and exhausted, which at least suggested he wouldn’t be bothered by them much more tonight. Small favors, but he’d take what he could get.</p>
<p>He heard a soft click, and was able to tell even through closed eyes that the lights had been turned off. “Bless you, Mal,” Trip said softly just before the door hissed open, “Feel better.”</p>
<p>Malcolm smiled. “I already do.”</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure if Trip had heard him or not, but he had the feeling the other man was thinking along the same lines. He was asleep before the door had closed, and despite everything, it was an incredibly peaceful one.</p>
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